In the heart of a Spartan, rage unfurls,
His name, Kratos, echoes across worlds,
A warrior forged in war’s vicious fires,
Puppet of gods, their whims and desires.
God of War, donned in ashes of the dead,
Behind his anger, hides a dread.
Familial blood stains his hands crimson red,
A haunting past, from which he’s fled.
He bears the Blades of Chaos, bound,
Etched with regret, to his wrists they’re found.
He tears through deities, foes renowned,
In the name of vengeance, his path is wound.
From Olympus to Midgard, his fury roars,
Across mythical realms, through titanic wars.
Yet in his wrath, he seeks something more,
A solace found in tales of yore.
A journey with Atreus, his son, his light,
Through Norse realms, bathed in frostbite.
They navigate the realms, day and night,
A god and a boy, in constant fight.
Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta, named,
His wrath like a fire, untamed.
Yet beneath the rage, guilt is framed,
A tragic hero, by remorse claimed.
His saga unfolds, a tale so raw,
The depths of a god, we begin to draw,
A warrior, a father, forever in thaw,
This is Kratos, the God of War.
